


teeter totter

by foxwedding



Series: Big Love [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, Female Billy Hargrove, Female Billy Hargrove/Female Steve Harrington, Female Steve Harrington, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwedding/pseuds/foxwedding
Summary: Honestly, Stevie cannot imagine a more inconvenient person to develop an attraction to. It'sBillie fucking Hargrove, she keeps repeating to herself, appalled when that reminder doesn't do anything to shock her out if it.Heather and Billie come over to Robin and Stevie's for dinner.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley/Heather Holloway
Series: Big Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684426
Comments: 16
Kudos: 137





	1. Teeter

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is Stevie's POV, second chapter is Billie's POV. Second chapter is a continuation of the narrative, not an alternative POV to Stevie's (like with Tilted and Tipped).
> 
> Additional tags adds with the next chapter.

It's eight-in-the-fucking-AM, on Stevie's day off, and Robin's dragged them both to the farmer's market a dozen blocks away from their apartment. It's overcast this morning, a real wet chill settled in the air, and Stevie trudges along in sweatpants and a long-sleeved fleece thermal. Next to her, Robin's eyeing the stalls of produce keenly, stopping every so often to point out some random vegetable that's out of season.

Such as, "No, were not eating cucumber tonight—it's off season now, Stevie. It'll be bland and watery!" Like Stevie's _insisted_ on having cucumber for dinner, or something.

Every two weeks or so, Robin invites Heather and Billie over for dinner, despite Stevie's constant protests. Heather already spends half her night in their apartment anyway—why make a big production out of effectively only having Billie over? Speaking of, it's been two months, and Stevie's no closer to determining whether Billie Hargrove likes her as a person, or whether she's merely tolerating Stevie's presence for Heather's sake. For a split second at the beginning, it seemed like Billie maybe wanted to fuck her, but the blonde has backed off since. She reasons that, at the time, Billie was probably trying to see how far she could push Stevie's limits.

Honestly, Stevie cannot imagine a more inconvenient person to develop an attraction to. Wonders if all the head injuries from her Hawkins exploits are finally catching up to her, compounding on one another as they come. Because there's just no rational reason for why the thought of Billie fucking Hargrove makes her insides flutter.

Sure, Billie inhabits the sort of relentlessly dominant personality that typically attracts Stevie. And yes, the blonde's never been hard to look at—ask anyone, they'd agree easily. And, of course, the two of them share a tacit understanding of all the NDA-clad horrors of Hawkins. But it's _Billie fucking Hargrove,_ she keeps repeating to herself, appalled when that reminder doesn't do anything to shock her out if it.

Robin physically pulls Stevie into a tented stall. She's evaluating a huge basket of yellow squash, pulling one out and presenting it to Stevie.

"What do you think?" 

_Shit,_ Stevie hasn't been listening. Robin's been rambling on about potential dinners, revising her recipes based on what's available at the market this week. Stevie looks at the standard yellow squash in Robin's hand and tries to talk herself into caring about this.

"I think it looks like a decent-sized dildo," she offers, verbalizing the first thought to pop into her head.

Robin huffs and tosses the squash into her linen bag. "Look," she addresses Stevie. "Go buy a baguette from Linda and I'll meet you on the corner." As she's turning to peruse bunches of arugula and rainbow chard, she adds, "And don't eat any of the baguette!" _Dammit,_ Stevie thinks.

She goes and purchases the bread from Robin's friend Linda, trying to avoid conversation all-together as she does it. Gets a raspberry turnover as well, shoving a third of it into her mouth as soon as she exits the stall. Robin's waiting for her on the street corner, bag piled with yellow squash, zucchinis, eggplant, and peppers. Stevie waves the baguette at her, as if proving she can trusted to accomplish that one simple task.

Stevie insists on stopping into a nearby coffeeshop—a rival of her own place of employment—and forces Robin to wait when she orders a pour-over. They've got medium-roasted beans out of Papua New Guinea, and Stevie's intrigued. They sit in one corner of the establishment and kick their legs up, phones in hand. Robin's sipping an oat-milk latte, eating a breakfast of yogurt and granola out of a re-purposed jam jar. Stevie inhales the remainder of her turnover and then promptly gulps down a third of her black coffee. Perfect.

She scrolls through Instagram, avoids looking too closely at posts from her ex's, but pauses all-together when she comes upon a post from Billie. Checks the time stamp—it's from last night. The blonde's got her arm around the shoulder of this petite redhead chick, real pretty, both of them open-mouth, caught mid-laugh. Billie looks as wild as ever, her expression one of feline delight, light catching the gold of her nose ring. The backdrop is a familiar 1970's wood paneling—they're clearly at Rose's bar. Stevie's innards curdle jealously, a reaction that she's well aware is ridiculous. She flips her phone screen-side down on her lap and continues to sip her coffee.

Thinks that Robin must have come upon the same picture in her own feed, because her best-friend is looking up with a frown.

"Billie's got a new girlfriend?" She asks Stevie, as if the brunette is somehow aware of the in's and out's of the blonde's life.

"Fuck if I know," she responds, shrugging one shoulder, casually avoiding eye contact because she's scared of what Robin might pick up on.

"Mm," her best friend replies, working through a mouthful of granola before commenting, "You guys seem to get along okay, now."

Stevie's been avoiding this general realm of conversation since that first Friday, when Billie practically had to carry her home. The four of them—Stevie, Robin, Heather, and Billie, that is—see each other often enough, whether it's at these weekend dinners or nights out at Rose's. Stevie's own interactions with Hargrove range from stilted small talk to banter that teeters back and forth between playful and aggressive. Like they haven't settled on a dynamic yet.

"I guess," Stevie replies noncommittedly. She has a horrible inkling that she may have drunkenly confessed to Robin about her attraction to Billie sometime in the past several weeks.

"You should try hanging out with her," Robin's now suggesting lightly. "You know, just the two of you." And fuck, Robin _does_ know, goddamn it. "I've hung out with her a few times at their place—she's really not as bad as she used to be." Okay yeah, there is the slightest possibility that Billie's grown up in the past four years. It's still a fucking terrible idea.

No, Stevie thinks. No, what Stevie really needs to do is get laid. Find some mean butch and get fingerfucked until she cries. Maybe get strapped two or three times. She briefly wonders what Dani is up to these days—her ex-girlfriend who was particularly magnificent at making Stevie feel like shit. 

"I'm re-downloading Tinder," she announces, ignoring Robin's suggestion entirely.

"Okay," Robin's responding in an if-that's-what-you-really-want tone.

They're halfway home when Stevie's shoving the baguette into Robin's hands, telling her, "I'm gonna go check out Atomic," and splitting off down a side street.

Atomic is a used-cassette and LP store in a large, musty basement unit. Stevie knows she doesn't have particularly hip taste in music—not like Robin does. But she likes to come here when she's feeling down. There's always some old-school funk playing over the speakers, and they let her spend hours flipping through wooden bins of dusty records—even when she doesn't buy anything. It's a great place for not-thinking.

She's on the hunt for something weird today, something that vibes with her horny-but-sad-gay mood. Picks out several LPs from the 60's and 70's experimental bin with promising cover art and spends the next hour trying them out on the in-store player-and-headphones set up. Finds one that lifts her mood a bit and shells out seven dollars cash for it.

Throws it on her own player when she gets home around noon and makes herself a PB&J and glass of almond milk. Collapses on the couch next to Robin, who's scrolling through ratatouille recipes online.

"Feel better?" Robin asks distractedly.

"Yep," Stevie confirms through a mouthful of her sandwich.

She helps Robin with dinner prep, painstakingly slicing squash and eggplant into sliver-thin circles, before retiring to her room for a nap. Falls asleep to her new record and wakes up three hours later, in a haze of aimless arousal.

Spends the next hour sprawled across her bed, naked, toying with the idea of jacking off before Heather and Billie arrive. Has started a couple times, passing an absent palm over her mound, playing with the wet heat around her slit with her middle finger, ultimately aborting each time when she realizes her thoughts have circled back around to Billie. On principle, she can't allow herself to masturbate to the thought of Hargrove. It's just blatant self-sabotage.

But it's getting down to wire now, she realizes, checking the time on her phone. She's got an hour before Billie and Heather show up. She sighs and considers her options. Knows she'll get lost in the pages of Pornhub if she opens her computer at this point.

Fuck it. _Fuck it._ She pulls a pillow over her eyes and relaxes into the comforter. Pitter-patters her fingers on the space between her breasts. Recreates that first Friday night in her mind. _Feels the snugness of her leather miniskirt-knows her ass looks great in it. Remembers the open air on her bare shoulders, the slide of silk over her pert nipples. Thinks about Billie sitting next to her in a bar stool—wait no, too high. Revises the image, puts the blonde in one of those table chairs by the pool table. Billie's grinning up at her, pulling Stevie into her lap with a hand at the small of her back—searing hot._

Stevie thumbs at her right nipple, feels it pebble up. _Imagines dropping into Hargrove's lap, feeling the rough demin under the back of her thighs, her leather skirt probably rucked up a bit to accommodate the spread of her legs over Billie's._ Stevie trails her hand down, over her navel, to the top of her public hair. Strokes the area lightly with her finger nails. _Billie's sliding the straps of her silk top off her shoulders now and Stevie pulls her arms up through them to help. Then the fabric is pooling at her waist, her tits fully exposed in the middle of bar—but it's alright, the room's empty, it's just the two of them._

She pulls her knees up so that her legs are bent, feet planted on the comforter. Runs a thumb lightly over her hooded clit, presses down just a tad to test her sensitivity. Lets her knees fall apart even wider. Feels the cool air of the room on her exposed pussy. _How would Billie react? She's grinning, of course, like a cat with a canary. Maybe she's running her tongue along her teeth, the way she always does when she knows she has the upper hand. Billie's leaning forward, blowing cool air on one of Stevie's nipples, flicking at it with the tip of her tongue. Opens her mouth like she going to kiss it, bites instead, just hard enough that Stevie's shrieking. Billie's laughing, praising her—'Mmmm, perfect'—in that raspy tone. Nips all around one breast, sucks, bites down, doesn't move onto the next spot until Stevie whines and squeals about it. Repeats the whole operation on the other tit._

Stevie's fully wet now, feels herself leaking into her folds. She gathers a slick bead with her middle finger and brings it up to her clit. _Maybe Stevie's rolling her hips against Billie's now, soaked through her panties, aching with the need to be touched. Then Billie's reaching down, pressing her thumb at Stevie's clit through her underwear. Actually no, she revises—Stevie didn't wear anything under her skirt tonight. She's been riding Billie's lap bare, soaking right into the rough denim of Billie's jeans._ Stevie's slowly rubbing her clit with her index and middle finger, but it her mind, it's Billie doing the touching. She puts that on a loop for several minutes.

_Actually no—the blonde's decided Stevie doesn't get to come until after Billie's come._ Stevie's gut floods with sudden heat. She likes that idea. Her fingers speed up their ministrations. _Billie's telling her to get on her knees now—the blonde's jeans and top have vanished. She's wearing the same bra and panties that Stevie remembers her wearing in the high-school locker room. Stevie's kneeling on the floor of the bar, mouthing at Billie panties, her hands on the insides of Billie's thighs. She looks up—wants to make sure she's doing it how Billie wants it—sees the blonde looking back, chewing gum now, her grin all teeth. It's hot to Stevie, like Billie's just leaning back in her chair, getting casual head, using Stevie's mouth to get off._

The heat is pooling rapidly and Stevie can hear her breaths coming out unevenly. _She's got her mouth fully on Billie now, underwear disappeared into the ether, got her tongue on Billie's clit, giving the tightest, most precise rotations she can give, wants to do her very best. Billie's got a brutal fist in Stevie's hair, keeping her mouth pressed up against Billie's pussy, telling her what a good job she's doing—'That's perfect, princess, just like that' and 'god, your mouth feels amazing' and 'You love being on your knees for me, huh, baby girl.'_

Stevie's hips stutter as she comes, abdomen tensing rhythmically, biting back a moan. She lays there for a minute, breathing deeply, feeling the pound of her heartbeat in her chest. Brings her hand up and grimaces at the cum webbing between her fingers. The sight of her own slick release is never as sexy as someone else's. The brunette sighs and checks her phone with her clean hand. She's got thirty-eight minutes to shower and get dressed. Does it in twenty.

She throws on a pair of leggings and an oversized Sleater-Kinney t-shirt— _No Cities To Love._ Refuses to let the knowledge that Billie's coming over influence her typical lounge attire. Passes over her make-up and hair products, swipes some moisturizer on her face, and calls it a day. She slides into some slippers and shuffles to the kitchen.

Robin's busy at the kitchen counter, throwing greens, sunflower seeds, and artichoke hearts in a wooden bowl, throwing some olive-oil concoction over that, and tossing the whole thing together with two table spoons. Whatever's in the oven smells incredible.

"Dude," Stevie sidles up to her best friend. "That ratatouille smells insane. I'm basically wet about it."

Robin snickers and elbows the brunette away. Stevie fishes two wine glasses from the top cabinet, lifting up on the balls of her feet to get to them.

"Red or white?" She asks before a thought strikes her. "No wait. Tomato-based dish? Red, for sure." Stevie's mother would be ecstatic that her daughter has picked up something from her lifetime of functioning alcoholism.

She pours out two glasses, then has to set the bottle aside as her phone buzzes. It's Dustin. She answers the call to a cacophony of bickering and white noise as the phone is clearly being fought over.

"Stevie!" Dustin exclaims breathlessly. "Settle this for us—no, stop it!" She can hear Mike whining in the background.

"Dustin, _knock it off!"_ And that's Will, sounding unusually stern.

"Hi Stevie!" It's El, cheering from somewhere nearby the speaker. Hears Max and Lucas echo the sentiment from further away.

"—No, everyone be quiet!" Dustin's screeching, even though he's now seventeen. "Stevie. Is it gay if a guy asks another guy if he wants to do mushrooms in the woods, just the two of them, and then says he'll bring a blanket?"

"I— _what?"_ Stevie asks incredulously. "Put Will on the phone, right now." 

"Hey Stevie," Will's voice has gotten _so low,_ but he still sounds as bashful as ever.

"Why the _fuck_ are you doing mushrooms in the woods? Who is this guy?" Stevie pictures every Unsolved Mysteries episode she's ever seen.

"He goes to our school. Look—" Will's starting, and Stevie just _knows_ some bullshit is about to follow. "We've been hanging out, but I can't get a read on him—"

"He asked you to do mushrooms with him?" Stevie cuts to the matter at hand. 

"Well, I mean, I've taken mushrooms with Johnny before, so," Will trails off.

"Oh my god. Don't tell me that," Stevie groans, weighing whether or not she wants to call up Jonathan about that.

"The point is," the kid continues, "do you think it's a date? 'Cause I'm not, like, his best friend or something, so I'm wondering why he'd ask me, you know?"

Stevie's puts her forehead in her hand and considers how she wants to respond.

But then Will continues, "And Billie says it sounds kinda romantic, so I'm thinking it _is_ a date."

Stevie's irritation goes from a two to a ten in a split second. _"Excuse me?"_ She's asking icily. "Billie told you to go ahead and take mushrooms with a stranger?"

"Not a stranger!" Will insists. "He's been in our grade since, like, middle school or something. He's super nice!"

"Yeah!" She hears Dustin agreeing faintly. 

"Super nice," El's adding. 

"A straight up pussy, really," is Max's input.

"Why would you ask _Billie,_ of all people? She's, like, a paragon of bad-decision-making." A slight exaggeration, but Stevie's trying to make a point.

"Max and I were hanging out and Billie called," he explains casually. Stevie feels conflicted about the amount of overlap she and Billie have in their respective lives.

Speaking of the devil—the doorbell is ringing throughout the living room, and Robin practically dances over to buzz Heather and Billie into the building.

"Will, I'm gonna put a pin in this right now, and call you later, okay?"

"Sure, sure," Will agrees easily, relieved to be momentarily let off the hook.

"You better answer when I call," Stevie warns. "I'm serious."

"I will," the kid whines, and Stevie knows she's not going to be able to get ahold of any of them for the rest of the night.

Stevie sets her phone down on the coffee table and mentally prepares her gambit for the impending argument with Billie. Palpable irritation competes with bodily excitement competes with faint jealousy. And at the back of all that? Stinging shame for spending all afternoon thinking about the blonde.


	2. Totter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billie's POV

Billie's not even two steps into the Buckley-Harrington residence before Stevie's pushing into the blonde's pathway. She has no idea what's she's done to upset the brunette now, but Stevie's got one index pointed menacingly in Billie's direction, her mouth open, brows furrowed, slippers on her goddamn feet, and Billie can't help herself. 

"Oh shit. Princess means business, huh?" Comes rolling right out of Billie's mouth on the tail-end of a chuckle. It's the wrong thing to say, knows it before she says it, says it anyway.

"Why the _fuck_ are you telling Will to go do mushrooms in the woods?" The brunette spits out, her tone shockingly acidic.

Billie reels for a moment, takes a second to register the words, calls up the corresponding memory. Next to her, Heather sighs and trudges off towards the kitchen, where Robin's dropping her chin to her chest in exasperation.

"You mean his little date?" Billie's utterly confounded right now. Doesn't understand if Stevie's upset about the mushrooms or the woods.

"Yes!" Stevie's practically screeching. "Why would you just give him the go ahead like that?"

"Why the fuck not?" The blonde searches for the crux of the argument, something to orient herself around.

_"Why the—"_ Stevie repeats incredulously. "You're fucking with me, right? You know what's in those woods-"

"Not for _years,_ come on!" Billie throws back. This is ridiculous.

"We don't know that! What if—" Stevie stops herself, cuts a glance over to where Robin and Heather are looking on from the kitchen. Billie's gaze follows. Robin's eyes are wide—a warning. Heather looks lost. Stevie turns back to Billie. "What if _something_ shows up?" She's dropped to sotto voce but her expression's still fiercely angry.

Then Robin's clearing her throat. "Why don't you guys take this to Stevie's room, yeah?" She's staring meaningfully at Billie while she says it.

Billie reaches for the crook of Stevie's elbow, trying to mobilize them towards the bedroom. Stevie pulls her arm away, spinning in those ridiculous slippers and shuffling off. Billie rolls her eyes and follows. Takes a moment to appreciate the silhouette of the brunette's legs and ass in those black leggings.

The blonde tosses her jacket and flannel onto the couch as they pass, pauses to step out of her boots and kick them to the base of one wall. She's wearing a tank top tonight—has seen the way princess eyes the line of Billie's broad shoulders, wants to revel in that gaze some more.

Stevie shuts the bedroom door behind them and proceeds to stand, arms crossed, glaring at Billie from the middle of the bedroom. Billie knows the brunette's revving to pounce on whatever the blonde says next.

"There's _nothing_ in those woods, princess." Billie starts. She's not precisely certain what Stevie's afraid of—has only caught bits and pieces of Stevie's past in the last couple months—but Billie does know this: "El would know, okay? Will would know," She gestures up at her own chest scar. " _I_ would know." Stevie deflates a bit.

"They're _kids_ , Billie—"

"They're _seventeen!"_ Billie shoots back.

"They can't—what if—" Stevie's start to spin inside, the blonde can tell. "It's _too young—"_

"Oh really?" Billie snorts. Seventeen was not that long ago for either of them. "The fuck were _you_ doing at seventeen, Harrington?" She recalls some of more salacious rumors to pour out of Tommy and Carol's mouths. "Come on, I know you're not mad about the mushrooms."

"No, that's not the point," Stevie's shaking her head fervently and Billie suddenly realizes that it's _exactly_ the point. The brunette continues, "He could get _hurt,_ Billlie. How's he supposed to know what this kid's really like?" She sounds off-centered, like she's winding herself up.

Billie sighs and wipes a hand down her face. "Okay," she starts, making her tone gentle even though all she wants to do is reach out and shake Stevie by the shoulders. "Harring— _Stevie."_ Billie rolls her eyes at herself, but it works—Stevie's looking right at her now, arms wrapped around her own waist, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth.

"Even _if_ Will's dating Nancy Wheeler," she meets Stevie's gaze pointedly. "He's gotta make his own way. You can't make _him_ learn from _your_ mistakes."

Billie lets that hang in the air for a moment. Stevie's eyes are wet and she's sucking on her lips.

"And honestly," Billie continues, "That kid's dealt with way fuckin' worse—give him some credit. A bad date's not gonna break him."

Stevie gives a wet laugh and nods, staring at the ground. Billie's got no idea how to follow up here. She glances around the bedroom—she's seen it before, in passing. Never really had a chance to get the feel of it. Billie takes in the wall of polaroids and printed photos. There's all the usual suspects—Robin, the kids, Hopper and Joyce, Nancy and Jonathan, an older couple that Billie assumes are Stevie's parents. And then some new faces—a dapper-looking blonde in a patterned button up whose cheek Stevie is kissing, two lanky hipsters behind an espresso machine, Stevie piggy-backing some bearded dude, all laughs.

Stevie's wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist now, looking exhausted and a little miserable. Billie thinks back to the last time she was emotionally out-of-her-depth with Harrington. Gives that technique a go again:

"Do you…wanna split a smoke?" The blonde asks hesitantly, nodding towards the bedroom window.

Stevie exhales loudly, looks over to where Billie's shaking a pack of Marlbolos enticingly. "Fuck. Yeah alright," she sniffs, then adds, "don't tell Robin."

The window is not a particularly wide one, and they have to stand close together in order to exhale the smoke through the screen.

"Look," Stevie starts, and goddamn it, the brat's already back to whining. "Could you just—I don't know. Tell me about one of _your_ exes or something. Every time I see you, it comes back to high school and then I'm a mess. I'm always so fucking embarrassed."

"Jesus Christ," Billie groans, reclaiming the cigarette from Stevie's lax fingers. "I show up for dinner, you attack me before I even step foot in the apartment, and now you want me to embarrass myself so that _you_ can feel better?" Takes a long drag and cants her neck to exhale out the window. Stevie looks mesmerized by the move.

"I mean. Yeah, more or less," Stevie replies, entirely unbothered by Billie's assessment. The blonde offers the smoke back.

"I. Um." Billie begins, searching out the window for something to occupy her gaze. "I don't really have any exes," she admits. "More just a long trail of hook ups," she adds, lest Stevie draw the conclusion that Billie's a virgin. 

"Really?" Stevie sounds dubious.

Billie snorts. "This is gonna blow your mind, princess, but girls aren't exactly lining up to date me." She puts more effort than she'd like to admit in keeping her tone light, like she could care less.

Stevie's quiet for moment, frowning like she's turning that fact over in her mind. "Why _not?"_ The brunette asks, sounds genuinely perplexed, and something about that response makes the blonde perk up. Like maybe Stevie thinks girls _should_ be clamoring to date Billie. 

The brunette puts the cigarette out on the frame of the window screen and Billie pushes off the wall. "I dunno," she replies easily, making her way towards the bedroom door. "Maybe 'cause I'm not you, baby girl." She reaches out, teases like she's gonna pinch Stevie, who swoops out of the way with a little yelp.

As soon as Billie exits the room, Buckley's shoving a precariously-full glass of wine into Billie's hands.

"Both of you better have mellowed out, I swear to god," Robin's grumbling.

The little coffee table in front of the couch is covered in various plates of food now—salad, some sort of vegetable casserole, butter, bread, wine, and the berry crumble that Heather baked earlier in the day. Billie rolls her eyes at the spread. It's a feast for fucking insufferable hippies, but she's not going to bite the hand that's literally feeding her. They settle in with their plates—Heather and Robin on the couch, Billie and Stevie in the armchairs on either side.

Heather and Robin start in with a conversation about compost pick-up services, and Billie almost immediately zones out. It's not that she thinks her best-friend and Buckley are boring when together, it's that—wait, no. That's exactly what she thinks. She slathers some butter on a hunk of bread and eyes Stevie out of the corner of her eye.

The brunette's dressed down tonight, not a sight Billie often sees. It looks good. Her cheeks are a bit flushed with wine, hair's down and air-dried, her eyes, a touch lidded, flicking back and forth between Robin and Heather as they talk. Stevie in her natural habitat.

Billie's spent the past two months biting her tongue against the near Pavlovian compulsion to rile Stevie up. Her self-discipline holds about fifty-percent of the time—she's only human after all. The blonde thinks back to the first week in the new apartment, griping to Heather about Harrington's hot-cold demeanor, being told to let it ride. Heather equated Stevie's gradual warming to Billie with a timid deer approaching a salt lick. Which Billie thought was fucking stupid, because Harrington could be a straight up bitch, often was. But the gist of it stuck with the blonde. Now the two of them just have a strange 'all-in' or 'all-out' dynamic, where they're either climbing over carnage to get in the last word or ignoring each other entirely. Billie can't even begin to describe how fucking stupid it all is.

The blonde gets drawn into the conversation at one point:

"Mm—speaking of making friends," Robin's gulping down some wine, "Billie, what's the story with that photo you posted last night? That hot redhead chick?"

Billie hopes her expression has been attentive-seeming. _Hot redhead?_ Billie takes a moment to think. "Oh, Nicole. She bartends with me at Ivy League. We went out after our shift."

"Nicole's super nice," Heather chimes in, nodding approvingly.

"She queer?" Stevie asks, reaching for some bread.

"Why?" Billie shovels a forkful of tomato and eggplant into her mouth. "You interested?" Her gut lurches unpleasantly. 

Stevie shakes her head. "Was just curious." She's not looking at Billie.

"Don't think so," Billie replies, weirdly put off by this conversation. And also bored of it. "She's got a boyfriend."

"Mm," Stevie responds, taking a delicate bite. Billie wants to demand why Stevie would ask a question if she can't even deign to appear interested in the answer. She bites it back instead.

Robin redirects the conversation. Somehow lands on the fact that one of Stevie's exes used to work at the wine bar next door to Ivy. Billie's ears prick up, but Robin just keeps talking about the tastings that happen there on Wednesday evenings. Like the blonde gives a single shit about wine bars and their middle-aged patrons that only want to talk about their trips to Europe. Luckily, Heather's of a similar mindset to Billie.

"So, wait, what happened with Dani?" Her best friend is inquiring, reaching for her wine. A quick beat of silence follows.

"She cheated on me, so I threw out her expensive strap-on," Stevie explains between casual bites of salad.

"Wow," Heather replies, "Like dildo or harness or—?"

"Whole thing," The brunette chirps.

"Nice," Billie approves, forking a bit of crispy squash.

"Yeah, except when Dani found out, it was a fuckin' nightmare," Robin adds, gesturing to Stevie with her fork. 

"Oh, what _ever,"_ Stevie's rolling her eyes more emphatically than Billie's ever seen. "I told her I'd buy her a new set if she apologized to me _and_ Bethany—that was girl she cheated on me with, Beth didn't know we were together—and obviously Dani didn't. So."

"Goddamn." Billie's reluctantly impressed.

After dinner, Robin whips together some heavy cream and vanilla extract and puts huge dollops of that over the berry pie. The four of them squeeze together on the couch—Billie, Heather, Robin, Stevie—and watch The Birdcage on the flat-screen while they eat. Everyone's tacitly agreed to ignore the way Heather and Robin are canoodling with increasing fervor until the duo stands and retires to Robin's room—about a third of the way through the movie. Which leaves Stevie and Billie alone, awkwardly watching the movie from opposite ends of the couch.  


After a few minutes, Billie swings her legs up, swiveling her body so that she's got her back against the armrest, legs laid out along the couch, crossed at the ankle. If she stretches, she can nudge Stevie's thigh with her big toe. So, she does. Does it again when Stevie ignores her. Billie takes it as an invitation, fidgeting loudly as she scoots down the couch to lift her feet into the brunette's lap. 

As predicted, Stevie throws them off in a huff. "Fucking _what,_ Billie?"

Billie tries not to visibly revel in that response. Schools her features, shrugs easily. "Just saying hi, princess, don't be rude."

Billie can see the exact moment that Stevie gives up and decides to play along. The brunette sighs and lets her head fall heavily against the back of the couch, swallows, and then rolls her attention towards the blonde.

"Hi Billie," the tone is utterly flat. Stevie's full lips are slightly downturned.

"Hey baby girl," Billie folds her arms behind her head, really settles in and waits for Stevie to supply some fire fodder. "What's new with you?"

Stevie sidesteps it. "So you _are_ looking for a fight tonight," she surmises, while forcing Billie to bend her legs to make room as the brunette tucks her own legs up onto the couch.

Billie shrugs and tuts her tongue, as if considering the possibility for the first time tonight. "Wouldn't say no to it," she answers.

The brunette shakes her head. "You're such a piece of work, Hargrove."

"Mmm," Billie agrees, adding, "That's Queen Daddy, to you, sweetheart," she brings up, for the fiftieth time this month.

Stevie looks profoundly unimpressed. "Not calling you Daddy, Billie."

"Not yet you're not," Billie shoots back, grinning with her tongue between her teeth. She can feel their pendulum vacillating back to 'all-in'. Finally, some good entertainment.

"You _would_ like that," Stevie snorts.

"I _do,"_ Billie confirms. Waits for the next volley.

Stevie opens her mouth and then—"Would you really be able to feel if something was happening in Hawkins?"

The abrupt pivot has Billie reeling. _What?_ She grasps at the trailing thread of this conversation. 

"That's a fucking foul play, princess," Billie grumbles and heaves herself to an upright seated position, legs folded criss-cross. As she does, Stevie reaches for the TV remote and mutes the sound.

Billie frowns and tries to read Stevie's angle. The brunette's looking curiously at Billie—just looking at her. Billie then realizes the question was a genuine one. Despite knowing that she and Stevie share a general set of traumatic experiences, it's not something they really talk about. Not in a meaningful way, at least.

"I—yeah." Billie answers, feeling somewhat lost. "I can tell—same as with Will. If—" Billie waves a hand in the air, referring to a plethora of horrific Hawkins-related possibilities, "—it would sting real bad." She taps her scar absently. Still there. Stevie's gaze zeroes in on it.

Then the brunette is shuffling forwards on the couch until she's knee to knee with Billie, frowning at the scar tissue, as if looking at it long enough will make any of the Hawkins bullshit make sense. It won't—Billie knows, she's tried.

"I have this memory of you—" Billie begins, a little confused because she didn't intend to say anything at all. "From when—" She swallows impulsively and tries again. "It left some of its memories behind, I think. You had that bat—Byers and Wheeler were there. Someone set m— _it_ —on fire?"

Stevie meets her gaze head on. It's unreadable. "Mm. Yeah," she murmurs, raising one hand to hover around Billie's scar. The blonde tilts her head back a little, a tacit go-ahead. "That's from the first time around," Stevie continues. "Before you'd even moved to Hawkins." 

Billie can faintly feel the heat of Stevie's palm on her chest. Of course, she thinks. Of course, she's always wanted to get Harrington's hands on her body, and of course, they're in the one place Billie no longer has any sensation. She can't feel how Stevie's touching her.

"Man, I really thought you'd died then," Stevie's whisper is a little shaky, but her hand is still firmly planted on Billie's chest. It takes a moment for the blonde to realize they're talking about Starcourt now. It's too heavy a topic.

"Eh, but I didn't," Billie reminds—well, both of them, really. "And every day, I thank god that I'm still around to ruin yours, baby girl. Luckily for you." She wants Stevie to bat at her shoulder, maybe roll her eyes and call Billie an asshole. The brunette does not.

Instead, she remains knee-to-knee with the blonde, head bowed, looking at her own hand on Billie's scar, and murmurs, "I like when you call me that," into the space between them.

Immediately, Billie's body runs hot. She reaches up to hold Stevie's wrist, thumb stroking at the pulse point. "I bet you do," she replies, just as softly. She wants to pull Stevie into her lap, stroke her knuckles along the small of Stevie's back, hold Stevie against her body, try to make them one. Billie doesn't want to move, doesn't want the brunette to pull away.

Finally, Stevie says something. "This kind of scares me." It sounds like an admission. Billie turns the words over in her head.

"I scare you or the situation scares you?" Billie needs the clarification but doesn't know if she wants the truth.

"This," Stevie repeats, gesturing between them. Billie can hear the click of her throat when she swallows. "I feel a lot when you're around." 

"That's okay," Billie replies, and thinks it actually is. Thinks the admission rings true for herself as well. She just can't make herself say it out loud. Not yet.

Stevie's body is shaking a bit—not like she's cold or crying. Just emotionally overwhelmed. Billie knows the feeling well.

"Here, let's just—" Billie shifts as she speaks, tries to keep her movements contained. "Let's just lie down." She grabs a throw pillow and shoves it under her head, stretching out the full length of her body along the couch. Breathes a sigh of relief when Stevie moves to follow suit.

In the end, Stevie's tucked in the space between Billie's body and the back of the couch, head resting on Billie's left breast, left arm curled over Billie's torso. They watch the rest of the movie on mute, the heat of Stevie's body settling over her own. Billie closes her eyes when the lids become too heavy. Absently feels something shift internally. Wonders if this is what it's like to know peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my life blood.
> 
> The album I pictured Stevie buying is Ashra's 1978 album _Blackouts._


End file.
